Yackle put his face in his hands. Amanda asked, “What have we got to fight with?”
“We all carry rifles in our boats,” said Enoch. “And ever since that killer whale attacked Martha’s most of us have had a few sticks of dynamite along. I know I have.” He looked around the table and met either nods of assent or eyes that avoided his.
Yackle took his hands away from his face. “We are all weary from today’s events, and the subject is too important to debate while we are tired. We will discuss it at length tomorrow. But before we break up I would like to suggest a vote of thanks to Mister Gavin. For better or worse, he risked his life today to save four of our own from the sword of the despoiler.”
There was a general mutter of assent and, to my surprise, even the disapproving oldster joined in. I said, “It’s young Sam over there who was the real hero today.”
Yackle smiled sadly. “When we first came to Sutton Cove we hoped that the only heroes we would have would be those who face the anger of the sea. Now, alas, it seems as if they may have to face the anger of our enemies.” He stood up and began the invocation of the Light which closed the meeting.
When the prayer was over I started toward the door with the rest of the crowd who had been listening to the debate. Yackle called me back. “Mister Gavin, may I have a private word with you?”
“They don’t want heroics around here,” I muttered to Judith. ‘Today I pretended to be a hero, so now they’re going to blackball me!” I went back to the council table expecting to be told I was being thrown out because I was an unhealthy example for their young.
Yackle waited until the room was empty, then said in a low voice, “Our gratitude was genuine. I know what your opinion of me is, Mister Gavin. I can only say that the path of diplomacy must be followed in the hope that it will avoid the abyss. But once one knows that the abyss lies ahead and there is no detour, then I must persuade others like myself to stand aside and let those more skilled in the arts of—of—” For once Yackle seemed at a loss for the right word.
“The art of killing?” I suggested. “You could learn that art quickly enough, I’m afraid, Chairman Yackle. And you’re going to have to learn it. You’ve been the shepherd of this flock for a long time, and you’ve been a good one, though too optimistic perhaps. But, like Enoch said, the wolves are howling around and the shepherd must go for his gun.”
He looked up at me. “I have been a dove since my boyhood. Now you are suggesting I metamorphose into an eagle?”
“Just trust in the Lord. He will show you how to preserve your people.” I could not refrain from capping my advice with a quotation of Gramps: “Blessed be the Lord my strength, who giveth my hand to war and my fingers to fight.” I left him staring at me and went to join Judith outside on the steps.
As we walked back through the village toward our cottage I said, “Now the truth’s out! They know I’m a killer by profession.”
Judith had been restraining her curiosity until I spoke. Now she asked, “What did Chuck want? If he sends you away—I’ll be coming with you.”
“Send me away?” I laughed although I found little humor in the situation. “That’s the last thing on his mind. He wants me to tell him how to keep the ungodly out of Sutton Cove. He didn’t say so in as many words, but that’s what he’s after. Chuck’s like a lot of decent men. Hates having to ask for help from a killer, but knows he’ll have to. I tried to encourage him to do his own dirty work.”
“You think that defending ourselves is dirty work?”
“Of course not, Judy. But I wish people wouldn’t talk about having to fight as though it was all dirty. Damnation, you’re a surgeon! You cut into living flesh. Do people treat you as if you were a butcher?”
We had climbed the path to the door of our cottage and I stopped to look back at the cove below, at the soft yellow lights reflected in the calm waters of the harbor, at the fishing boats moving easily at their buoys. Despite myself, I liked this place and admired the people in it. But defend it? That was impossible!
Judith took my arm and led me inside. “The first thing you need is supper. Sit down at the table, prepared to eat.” She disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a bowl of fish stew. Its scent drove depression from my mind, at least for as long as I was still hungry.
She finished her stew quickly, then watched me as I finished mine. She had that surgical look in her green eyes. I was in no mood to be dissected, but I had no escape. “Go ahead! Ask!” I pushed my empty plate away from me.
“You don’t think we’ve much chance of holding Sutton Cove if we’re attacked, do you?”
I shrugged. “Believers are non-fighters. Pacifists, almost by definition. The kids seem to see what we’re in for. So do some of the oldsters. Enoch, Jehu, Amanda, for instance. Even Yackle. In fact Yackle sees better than anybody else here—including me. But the rest—” I threw up my hands. “Gavin, why did you become a soldier?”
A question for which I was completely unprepared and answered with a joke. “Like they used to say: Join the army and see the world. Join the air force and see the next!”
She persisted. “I’m serious. Why did you?”
“Because I wanted to. That’s the only answer I can give. I used to be ashamed to give it. Like admitting to want kinky sex—though God knows there’s not much left that’s still considered kinky.” I fiddled with my desert spoon. “I used to give myself all sorts of excuses for my unnatural desire—to become a fighting man.”
“And you don’t give excuses anymore?”
“Not since I realized that I was born that way. And that I wasn’t abnormal. Just archaic! And that there was still a market for guys like me.”
“Gav—if there were more guys like you this world would be a better place.” She was still studying me as if looking for a site to start an incision. “And you’re not really a fighting man. Or is that the same as being a soldier?”
I laughed. “Not quite! Soldiering’s an old trade. As old as man. For the last hundred years it’s been out of fashion—at least in the Affluence. Out of fashion—in an age that’s been spending more money on weapons than any age has ever spent. Real money, percentage of GNP, I mean. That’s the paradox! Except for a few throwbacks like me, no sane individual, no sane government, wanted to fight. So they built weapon systems that will annihilate everybody if anybody starts! Which was the craziest thinking. Because, sooner or later, somebody would have started. Maybe Impermease is a blessing in disguise. At least people will die off naturally. Fighting’s natural too. Bloody but natural—like childbirth.”
“It’s natural for men to fight like animals?”
“The trouble is that men don’t fight like animals. They fight like men. And women too, these days!” I shrugged. “If your Teacher’s only half right, there’s going to be a lot of natural selection for animal traits in the next few years.”
She persisted. “You mean that those humans with the greatest lust for blood will be the ones who’ll survive to breed?”
“No!” I stood up. Then I sat down. “Natural selection doesn’t work like that. And you know it! Also, blood-lust, whatever that is, has nothing to do with it Some men who like fighting are bloody-minded murderers. Some are meek slobs who turn sick at the sight of blood when away from the action. It’s not some kind of an addiction—it’s not like being hooked on alcohol or drugs or sex. If you can’t have it, you can go without it I never wanted to fight anybody in the Pen. I never missed not having a drink in the Pen. But I enjoy a bourbon when it’s available, and so I go to places where it is available when opportunity offers. Because when it’s available, then I want it” I stood up again. “Soldiers aren’t psychopaths—”